


Sunshine

by heaven_s_gate



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Nicknames, Aziraphale is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Confused Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Whipped (Good Omens), Gabriel is an asshole, Getting Together, Hurt feelings, Internal Conflict, Love Confessions, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Nicknames, Other, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23234098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heaven_s_gate/pseuds/heaven_s_gate
Summary: Crowley had heard Gabriel call him that before, right before sending him to die in a fiery inferno.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 114





	Sunshine

Crowley had heard Gabriel call him that before, right before sending him to die in a fiery inferno. He hated the archangel for that, but Crowley had to admit, the nickname was fitting. _Sunshine._ Aziraphale did seen to light up a whole room. If Crowley looked at him for too long he had to avert his eyes. Being near him for too long made him start to burn. He tried not to think about it so much. The reason he ached after leaving the angel's company. 

The first time Crowley called Aziraphale his new petname, it was entirely on accident. A subconscious mistake that slipped out before he had the chance to squash those blasphemous thoughts back into submission. Crowley had made the decision to allow the angel into his garden, a decision that took him many years of deliberation. Frankly, he had half a mind to leave London entirely, and soon. Crowley figured he needed to show Aziraphale the garden now or he never would. His other half a mind, however, refused to be far from his angel; not after it had almost been the end of the world. Not after almost losing him.   
He turned to Aziraphale, who was aiding him in doing a little repotting and necessary trimming, and said, "Could you hand me that trowel, sunshine?"   
Aziraphale passed him the shovel without looking up, and then paused. He stared at the back of Crowley's head, looked back down, and broke into an angelic smile, a deep pink blush creeping onto his face. Crowley did not realise his mistake until it was much too late to take it back. He instead settled for blocking all of the windows in his flat for a week; until he could bear to see the sun without having the urge to tape his own mouth shut permanently. It was another three days after before he was willing to see Aziraphale in person again. 

The next time, Crowley allowed himself a moment of indulgence over a successful meal at one of his angel's favorite spots for dinner. It was quite a change, as they usually met for lunches, a bit of a tradition at this point. The demon hadn't minded, dinner always felt a bit more romantic to him, and any invitation to spend time with Aziraphale was one he refused to decline. They spent the whole evening smiling, Aziraphale laughing at his own stories and anecdotes, and Crowley simply watching him with a small smile and a look of adoration in his eyes. He was very grateful that he wore his shades in moments like these.   
Aziraphale had asked him for his input on how to deal with human customers, after a ghastly row with one the week before, and Crowley had answered him honestly with an, "I don't know, sunshine, you tell me. You're the angel here." Crowley let the words fall deviously from his mouth, feeling a bit smug at his own daring.   
He tried not to feel as if he had done something terribly wrong when Aziraphale's eyes widened and he stuttered out a, "Y-yes...quite."   
There was a beat of silence before the angel shook his head and quickly changed the subject. Crowley tried very very hard not to feel sick. But, as usual, spending time with his angel was enough to make him feel quite a lot better, and by the end of the night he was walking Aziraphale home without a shred of anxiety. The copious amounts of champagne they had consumed likely helped. 

It was a long time before Crowley called him that again. This time, he was quite inebriated and sitting quite close to the object of his affections. His glasses had been discarded long ago, and he had been babbling for what felt like several minutes about Satan-knows-what. Aziraphale listened intently, sipping on his nth glass of wine.   
"An with all the holes in the ozone like tha' who- who KNOWS what the humans are gonna do, like...we _jus'_ saved their arses what felt like _yesterday_ and it seems like the poor beasts are going to end the world themselves. Well, a few of them are, anyway. The earth is heating up, and fast, and they're just," he gestured wildly with his hands, "pumping more chemicals out, letting the sun cook them all to death... Ha. Haha. The sun. Sunshine. You know what the sunshine reminds me of, angel?"  
"Hm?" Aziraphale asked, a sip of wine in his mouth.  
"You, Aziraphale, 'cuz you're so bright an' warm an' all. And you had the whole, you know, flaming sword business, before you gave it away...twice."  
Aziraphale stared with his mouth slightly open for a moment, and said, "Well...I think I shall take that as a compliment, dear boy. Thank you," he smiled, looking away. Crowley smiled back, smugly, and took a sip from his bottle. 

Crowley and Aziraphale raced down the streets of London, speeding to a highly competitive book auction the angel had no intention to miss, or be even half a second late for. Luckily, there was Crowley, with his Bentley and constant, terrifying pace, as Aziraphale liked to call it. Crowley would let him call it whatever he would like if it meant more car rides together, no matter how much his angel complained. His Bentley, the most intelligent machine he had ever known, had made some devious plans of its own, ever the wingman. It chose to play Queen's "You're My Best Friend" at full blast almost as soon as the pair entered the car. This may seem, at first, to be insignificant, if you didn't know Crowley, nor what Crowley has been through, but the Bentley knew all of that. This was the song that played as Crowley drove up to find Aziraphale's beloved bookshop up in flame, his friend no where to be found. The demon's grip on his steering wheel tightened, almost threateningly. However, as Freddie Mercury belted out the words, "You're my sunshine!" for all to hear, Crowley felt much less anguished and much more embarrassed. He saw Aziraphale turn to him out of the corner of his eye, the angel's gaze lingering for a few moments, before he turned to look out the window. Crowley sighed in relief as the song finished and their ride together came to an end. Aziraphale waved him goodbye as he drive off, and, once again, Crowley tried very very hard not to feel sick. 

He really _hadn't_ meant to avoid Aziraphale for three weeks, he just so happened to be incredibly busy the whole time, very far away from London. Or that's what Crowley told himself as he sped away from the city immediately after leaving the angel at the auction. Eventually, guilt got the better of him, and he made his way back to Mayfair, up to his flat. He had left his phone behind, and dreaded to see how many calls and messages he had missed. Twenty-seven calls and twelve voicemails, it seemed, was the answer. Aziraphale had gone through all manner of emotions as the voice messages played on, from a fearful, "my dear, are you alright? Please call me," to an angry, "this is _not_ funny, Crowley, in fact I find it rather inconsiderate of you, considering our positions with our places of employment. Considering how easy it is for them to take you away without anyone noticing. Call me back now." There was even a message in which Aziraphale was clearly drunk, slurring out the words, "this is no fun without you here. You should call me and come home, I have your favorite. _Please_ , Crowley."  
Crowley felt like complete and utter _shit_. Any efforts to make himself feel less sick were completely and totally ineffective. He had to call Aziraphale and apologize for being a complete twat for almost the past month.   
The phone rang many times, leading Crowley to hope that maybe the angel was busy, that he had more time to compose himself before they had this discussion. But, of course, Aziraphale picked up on the second to last ring.  
"Hello?"  
"Hi, angel, it's me."  
A pause. "Crowley." His voice was firm, unreadable. The demon feared the worst.  
"Listen, Aziraphale, I am so sorry-"  
"Oh, whatever do you have to be sorry for? It's not a crime to take some time for yourself. In fact, I'm the one who should be sorry for leaving you all of those messages, it must have made you feel terribly guilty." There was something atrificial and sickly sweet about the way the angel spoke. It reminded Crowley of the way he spoke to "customers" who were deluded enough to believe they were going to purchase something from the bookshop that day.  
"Angel, please. I know I had you worried sick. You don't have to hide it from me. I really am sorry. I can't imagine the scare I must have given you." Crowley held his face in one hand, holding the phone up to his ear in the other.   
"Well," Aziraphale paused, "since you're back now you might as well come by the shop and find a way to make it up to me somehow."  
Crowley grinned, "You know I will, sunshine."

Crowley had been very surprised when his angel not only did not bring up the subject of alcohol, but flat out refused the demon's offer to manifest them some, or even fetch some from the back. Aziraphale had insisted, "You've been gone long enough, I would rather not be intoxicated the whole evening." Crowley felt disappointed at that, hoping something to drink would calm his nerves. He felt his hands begin to sweat, and he wiped them on the thighs of his pants. He knew something was coming.  
"Why...where did you go off to?"  
There it was.  
"Listen, angel, I-" he cut himself off, "you died. Or, at least, I thought you did. And that was the song that played as I saw your bookshop burn. The same one."  
Aziraphale looked completely lost, "What? What song?"  
"'You're My Best Friend', the blasted Bentley played it the last time I saw you. And I guess I just shut down. I haven't really...had time to process that part of our whole 'armageddon adventure'," he made quotation signs with his fingers, "the fact that I thought you were gone. Like, really truly never-coming-back gone." It wasn't the entire truth, but Crowley thought it was a good place to start. He did need to talk about it, before it truly drove him mad.  
"My dear boy, what made you think that? A housefire would simply leave me discorportated, not destroyed."  
"Hellfire, angel, remember," he said, bitterly.  
"Oh. Oh my. Oh, _Crowley_ , how could I have missed this?" He leaned over, putting his hand on Crowley's arm, trying to meet his gaze and comfort the demon.  
Crowley studied the floor. "Told you, Aziraphale, I lost my best friend."  
"But I didn't think you thought...! Crowley, you are not going to lose me, understand? We have made it through six thousand years and an apocalypse together. I don't dare to think of leaving your side, lest the world suffer the consequences."  
Crowley finally looked at him. "You mean that?"  
"Of course I do. I'm an angel, we never lie."  
Crowley scoffed and rolled his eyes.  
"Okay," Aziraphale admitted, "you're right, but I won't lie to you. Not again. We're...best friends after all."   
Something in the way he said it made Crowley feel nervous. "I mean," he said, trying to appear nonchalant, "who else would qualify as the infamous demon Crowley's best friend? Surely not Hastur, Ligur, Satan damn his soul, or any other demon for that matter. There's no other angels in my life, I can assure you that. A human, maybe, but their lives are so short, and don't you think if I knew one I'd have told you about them by now?"   
Aziraphale seemed to ponder this for a second. "I do suppose you're right about that. I believe that we are in similar positions, for that matter. It's quite lucky we found each other, eh, old boy?"  
Crowley nodded, "I'd say it's less luck and more all a part of _Her_ plans."  
"Point taken, considering that _was_ our exact argument when faced with our superiors."  
Crowley threw his head back, laughing. Aziraphale watched him with rapt attention, smiling brightly. When their eyes met again, the angel leaned forward quickly and removed Crowley's sunglasses, setting them on the table beside them. The demon looked at him, confused and a bit exposed.  
"We're inside and ah, well, it's just the two of us, so I thought- well I quite like to see your eyes. I... I have always liked them rather a lot. I hope you don't mind."  
Crowley started at him intensely, before shaking his head and waving the angel off, "No, no, s'fine. Just a lot brighter in here now. Especially what with you around," he caught himself, ending the thought there abruptly.   
"Ah, what was that? I don't think I understand..."  
"Well, you're all angelic and whatnot," he gestured to Aziraphale with his hands, "you've got this kind of light about you. It uh..." he steadied himself, "it reminds me of the sunshine, you know?"  
Aziraphale began to look a bit pink. "Oh, I see. So thats why you've been calling me that," he paused, "I take it all angels are like that to demons?"  
"Well..." Crowley made many pinched facial expressions and noncommittal noises, "I wouldn't say that, no."  
Aziraphale's eyebrows raised, "Oh?"  
Crowley scratched the back of his head, finding any excuse to avoid the angel's eyes. "It's only you, I think."  
"Oh..."  
"Yeah..."  
"Crowley?"  
"Yeah?" the demon said, feeling rather small.  
Aziraphale stood up and took a seat next to Crowley. He gently held the demon's jaw, encouraging him to look him in the eyes. "Please," the angel wet his lips, "do tell me if I'm out of line here-"  
Crowley made a small noise in the back of his throat, almost like a whimper. Aziraphale took a breath, then leaned in to press their lips together. Crowley made another sound, and Aziraphale found himself pushing deeper into the kiss, his hands finding their way to cup Crowley's cheek and his neck. Crowley, a man of little grace, simply threw his arms around his angels neck and held on tight, praying to both the Almighty and every other god invented by man that this wasn't a dream.   
When they pulled away, finally, lips red and wet, Crowley found himself close to tears.   
"Oh, Aziraphale..." he pulled the angel into a hug, all of his long limbs wrapped around him right.  
"Oh Crowley, my _darling_ ," Aziraphale whispered into the crook of his demon's neck, and Crowley felt himself shiver. He began petting his angel's face and hair, lost in thought.  
"Angel, you have no idea how long I've waited to do that."  
"Well, why didn't you?"  
"I didn't want to push you, I never even dared to hope you would..." Crowley pulled Aziraphale up to face him, eyes shining.  
"Love you back?" The angel supplied.  
Crowley short circuited for a moment, "Love?"  
Aziraphale began to look a bit pale, "Oh dear, I've said too much haven't I? After all, it's only the first time we've even _kissed_ -" Crowley shushed him, pressing a finger to the angel's lips.  
"Aziraphale, I have loved you since the moment you told me you had given away your flaming sword. I never thought an angel could ever love me back..."   
Aziraphale blanked, eyes wide.  
"That long?!"  
Crowley looked a bit indignated, "Thats what you took from that? Yeah, that long. How long have you, then, it, that is, if you do...?"  
"Of course I do, Crowley," he assured, then thought it over a moment, looking away. "But, I suppose I _knew_ I loved you in 1941, during the war. It was at the church. Or what was left of it. You...you saved my books."  
A look of knowing went over Crowley's face. "I remember. I burnt up my favorite shoes walking through that place. My feet had blisters for weeks, ones that I couldn't even miracle away. But, it was worth it, for you." Crowley smiled tenderly up at his angel, whose mouth hung open, almost like a fish.   
"Well, I realised it then, but, I think it had been there for a long time, building under the surface. It took me some time to accept it after that. I suppose I made you wait a very long while, eh?" The angel huffed a small, sad laugh.  
Crowley cupped Aziraphale's cheek and leaned up to kiss him, delicately.  
"My sunshine, I would wait another six thousand years for you."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I'm actually pretty proud of this one <3 (btw my gomens fics aren't connected at all so there's a lot of different hcs in each lol)


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